Anonymous Amy

Anonymous Amy Chapter One

Amy Wesley

Who is she?

Nobody of importance. A shadowy figure, Amy is.

Pathetic is one word other's have used to describe her. She's known to be quiet and unassuming. She is weak, neurotic, depressed, and constantly hides behind the cover of her faithful hoody. She would love to be invisible, but unfortunately life doesn't work that way. It won't just let her sidle pass silently, without a second thought. No, it insisted upon making things a living hell for her. She's seen as a loner, and a freak. An outcast of society. She could not simply blend into the pavement. Not with her background.

Everyone that she had- her family, her friends- they all abandoned her in some different way. She's alone, and she can accept that.

Every person has tried to reach out to her- shrinks, doctors, people who only wanted to be friendly. But they all failed. They would think they were actually getting through to her an then, in an instance, it would all disappear and you would be right back to where you started. And that, is why people have given up on her. It's a futile attempt. Like trying to save someone who is already dead.

Which is exactly what Amy Wesley is. Dead, on the inside.

Who is Amy Wesley?

No one, that's who.

--

I stared at the blank paper. That's all it was. A pretty much blank paper, save for the little blue lines. Boring, just like me. Ordinary. Clear of any thoughts or ideas. That was, until my hand moved my pencil across it. It then became full of ideas, full of thoughts, full of emotions. My emotions, as a matter of fact. And they were always the same, dark thoughts that clouded my mind every second, of every minute, of every day. Dark, depressing and omnipresent.

"... the answer, Miss Weaver?" a voice boomed my name.

My head snapped up immediately, feeling all eyes on me. Pressing against the barrier of my little bubble of secludedness.

"Um... I... Er..." I mumbled, feeling my cheeks redden as I stared at the foreign question on the board. "I don't know."

"Loser." Someone muttered from behind me, followed by a chorus of snickers.

"Pay more attention next time." Mr. Arkens scowled, then moved on to ask another student.

I breathed a soft sigh, letting my long bangs fall into my eyes. My hair was dyed black, but my natural colour wasn't too far from black in itself, and fell to my elbows like a silky curtain, layered and thinned, the whole she-bang. I quickly put away my diary, making a note to finish off that page as soon as I got home.

With that class being the last, I trudged through the school with my headphones firmly in my ears. People bumped into me, but barely muttered an apology or acknowledgement. I toyed unconsciously with the silver stud in my lip. I had gotten it done when I turned fifteen, over two years ago. That, plus my wrist piercing, four piercings in each ear and a small tattoo on my ankle, were sort of like memorabilia to me. A reminder, if you like.

Me, being the time-saver I am, took the short cut through D corridor to get to the street entrance, when suddenly, I went flying, as my foot caught on something. I heard a loud, rumbling laugh and briefly closed my eyes. I reached to pick up my bag but someone stepped on my hand, not so much as to hurt it but to simply stop it in it's path. I didn't want to look up. I would not look up. But my green-blue eyes betrayed me, and glanced up, my gaze meeting a pair of cold, grey eyes. I almost had to blink back tears.

"Hello, Amy." The voice was hard, but was uttered as soft as a whisper.

"Hurry up and get this over with, Mitchell. We have football practice soon and Coach doesn't want us to be late this time." That had come from one of the two boys standing behind Mitchell, my torturer.